


i know what you told me (i know that it's all over)

by favefangirl



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Frankenstein - Freeform, Full Moon, Getting Back Together, M/M, Metaphors, Peter is secretly staring, Scallison, Steter - Freeform, Stiles can't resist, Stiles is a good friend, Werewolves, break-up, briefly, the Loft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-12
Updated: 2017-02-12
Packaged: 2018-09-22 11:46:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9606296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/favefangirl/pseuds/favefangirl
Summary: There are perks to being best friends with werewolves; the constant protection, not really being afraid of things which go bump in the night and, well, being best friends withwerewolves. But there are some negatives, too. Like being the only human who's weaker and feebler and more useless than everyone else, and is in constant need of protection because you can't take care of yourself.Or being left alone on a full moon with the creepiest guy to ever walk to earth.





	

There are perks to being best friends with werewolves: the constant protection, not really being afraid of things which go bump in the night and, well, being _best friends with werewolves_. But there are some cons, too. Like being the only human who's weaker and feebler and more useless than everyone else, and is in constant need of protection because you can't take care of yourself.

Or, being left alone on a full moon with the creepiest guy to ever walk to earth, while everyone else is off wolfing out in the woods far away from any potential victims.

See, that's bad enough on it's own, but now imagine said guy is also your ex-boyfriend, and yeah that's kinda how Stiles felt. He was sat typing on his laptop, completing an assignment for Scott, and Peter was sat across from him reading Frankenstein. Stiles was bored, his back ached from the uncomfortable chair, and his t-shirt was sticking to his skin (which was slick with perspiration from the uncomfortable heat of the loft).

Every so often he would glance up at Peter and feel a strange and confusing mixture of anger and longing. See, it was Peter which had left him all those months ago, and he was still bitter about it, and hadn't yet gotten over being dumped He hadn't yet managed to get over Peter, either. He doubted he ever truly would. It made him feel sick to his stomach, and want to sprint out of the room. His pride, however, refused to let him.

He and Peter had dated for almost a year. Stiles had just turned seventeen when they first got together, and Peter was almost fifteen years older, but that hadn't bothered either of them. At least Stiles hadn't thought it had. See, Peter hadn't really given a reason why they broke up, just said they couldn't be together anymore. And Stiles, who had battled with his own big mouth his whole life, said nothing and let him go.

"You're staring at me," Peter stated, calmly. Stiles snapped out of his trance, and realised he'd allowed his eyes to fall and stay on Peter's face. "What are you thinking about, Little Boy?"

Stiles shuddered. That had been Peter's pet name for him whilst they had been together, and it never failed to get Stiles' blood pumping into inconvenient places. Or, when said softly rather than teasingly (because Stiles did get to see Peter's caring side (and Peter did _have_ a caring side)) it could make Stiles feel safer than ever before. In this situation, with everything that had happened, he wasn't sure how it made him feel.

"How do you do it?" he asked, quickly covering his mistake and feigning confidence. "How do you resist the full moon?"

Peter smirked and huffed out a humourless laugh - patronising. "Unlike your friends I actually know what I'm doing."

A protective flare surged through him. When they were together, Peter was always boasting about how he was so much better than everyone else, but back then it had only served to endear Stiles. Now, whether because of bias or bitterness or even something else, it made Stiles want to slap the sexy smirk right off of Peter's smug face. It felt like he didn't have to right to be boastful, not anymore.

"Scott can control himself, too." Stiles argued, sounding petulant even to himself. "He has an anchor, Allison."

Peter rolled his eyes and looked back down at the book. If Stiles didn't know better, a look of embarrassment befell Peter, and a blush began creeping up his cheeks. But Stiles did know better, and he knew that Peter didn't have enough emotional capability to feel something like embarrassment. Still, Stiles _knew Peter_ better than almost everyone, and had seen what most others hadn't.

"Wait..." Stiles said, the cogs turning in his mind. "Do you actually have an anchor?"

Peter sighed like the entire conversation was trivial and stupid; below him. "As a matter of fact," he said as though it was a chore, "yes."

Stiles narrowed his eyes like he was waiting for Peter to laugh and yell 'gotcha!'. But he knew Peter was telling the truth, even without werewolf super senses. Peter, again, went back to reading his book. Part of Stiles said that that was the end of the conversation, but a larger point of him said to push. Push Peter to talk, push him all the way because there was nothing more Peter could do to hurt him. There was barely any of Stiles left for Peter to hurt.

"Well, who is it?" Stiles pressed.

Peter looked up at him with raised eyebrows, an expression on his face like he had just realised Stiles was there. He frowned, like Stiles had never seen directed at him before. Peter had never looked at him like this before, like he wanted to attack. Stiles had never felt so threatened in Peter's presence before. Then, just like that, the expression was gone and Peter looked like Peter again.

Only now, he looked like _Stiles'_ Peter, the one that he knew. The one that _only_ he knew. The one he knew that no one, none of the others, could ever dream of existing. The soft, caring, kind Peter which Stiles had fallen in love with. Which Stiles had thought loved him back. Complete with the tell-tale, soft upturn of the right side of his mouth which Stiles had learned meant Peter was feeling _fond_. He never thought he'd see that directed at him again.

Peter sighed, mostly to himself, before saying, "It's you."

He said it in a way which Stiles believed more than he had ever believed in anything, ever. He said it like it hurt to admit, but was a relief at the same time. Like it was something which had been weighing heavy on his conscience for a very long time, and finally he had been able to confess. Not like a sin, not like a crime, perhaps like a promise. To Stiles and his 100 mile an hour mind, it felt like a promise.

"You're lying," Stiles said, frowning, although he didn't quite believe it himself.

"I know it's hard to believe," Peter began, closing the book and placing it on the arm of his chair, "but for once I'm not."

This made Stiles frown even more and wonder if Peter ever lied about anything serious. Like about loving him. It would be just like him, the prick, to lead Stiles along and make him doubt everything. But even as the thought crossed his mind, he silenced it. He knew it wasn't true because of what he felt and what he absolutely knew Peter felt as well. There was no way it couldn't have been real. No way in hell.

"I can't be your anchor!" Stiles protested, "You broke up with me."

Peter rolled his eyes again, and stood up from his chair. He walked over to the tall windows, and the light of the full moon illuminated his silhouette. For a moment, his eyes flashed a bright turquoise before returning to their usual pale ocean blue. He leaned one forearm against the glass, and pressed his forehead into the crook of his elbow, looking out at the street below.

"It doesn't mean I stopped loving you," Peter muttered almost too quietly for Stiles to hear, but loud enough for them both to know he did. Stiles' small gasp said it all.

He closed his laptop and placed it propped up against the side of the chair. He stood up shakily, not quite trusting his legs to work. Peter turned his head to face him, and his expression was almost unreadable, but Stiles knew better than that. He could see truth in his eyes, a kindness there too, and hope. No, not quite hope, but almost hope. Hope laced with fear, fear of rejection. Never the sort to wear his heart on his sleeve, this was as close as anyone got to seeing Peter's true colours - only Stiles ever got so close.

"What?" Stiles choked, taking a few tentative steps forward.

Peter huffed another humourless laugh, like he found something funny but couldn't make it all the way to amused. "Don't make me say it again."

And maybe Stiles shouldn't have kept pushing, because maybe he should have known better than to keep going, but he couldn't stop. He couldn't help it, couldn't help himself. "You loved me?" He said. It was part accusation, part clarification, part despiration.

Then, just like that, no more pushing for answers required, Peter said, "I still do."

Stiles gasped, loudly enough that even without his werewolf hearing, he would've been able to hear it from across the room. Peter turned his head to look outside again, tension tight in his shoulders. Stiles wanted to walk over and massage that tension right out of him, but kept his hands balled into tight fists at his sides. He refused to show any more weakness than he had already. His heartbeat was frantic, he was sweating uncontrollably, and his breathing was uneven. Peter and his crazy werewolf senses could tell a mile off.

"But- You broke up with me? You left me!" Stiles' voice raised without him meaning for it to, and it broke just a little at the end like it hadn't done since puberty, but he couldn't find it within himself to be embarrassed. He was so damn close to actual answers, adrenaline coursed through him with each pulse of his frantically beating heart.

Peter sighed and his shoulders sagged. It was clear he was tired, and suddenly Stiles was exhausted too, but he couldn't drop this. He couldn't. Not now he was so close to pulling away the charade of Peter's exterior to see the real him beneath. The real him even Stiles had only ever had mere glances at, and wanted to know more. Maybe even get answers as to all the questions which had been tearing away small pieces of Stiles' calm since their break-up.

"I was trying to protect you," Peter explained. It was strained but controlled, like he needed to yell, but refused to let out his anger on Stiles.

"I have enough of you trying to protect me from the monster of the week-"

" _I_ ' _m_ not exactly _stable_ , Stiles. You know me better than anyone, you've seen my dark side. I _love_ you, Stiles, there was no way I was going to put you at risk from me." Peter hissed, but Stiles could see all his anger was at himself and was pushing its way out of Peter's mouth without him wanting it to.

"That wasn't your decision to make!" Stiles yelled, taking two long steps forward so he was right next to Peter, who wasn't making eye contact. "I know _exactly_ who I was with, I didn't go into our relationship blind, alright. I chose to date you, I _chose_ _you_ , alright."

Peter turned suddenly to face him, eyes not quite dangerous but far from soft or gentle. Stiles saw it and thought of Peter's wolf, the one he had seen tear prey to pieces with razor sharp fangs, whose eyes were calculating. He was looking at Stiles like he was a problem to solve, an equation to balance, _something_. Stiles felt suddenly shy under his purposeful gaze, and felt a blush creep deep into his cheeks.

"Stiles..." Peter said.

He didn't say it much like anything, not threateningly or warningly. He just said it like he was tasting the name on his tongue, or like he was hearing it in his own voice for the first time. Or like Stiles was hearing him say it for the first time. The blush deepened, and Stiles had to look away unable to hold Peter's unreadable look any longer. He looked down at the floor, at his beat up old sneakers, embarrassed.

"Stiles," Peter repeated, and with a gentle finger tilted Stiles' head up to meet his eye again. "Stiles, I'm sorry. I was trying to protect you. I know you're not the fragile little human everyone thinks you are, but the wolf in me has this need to protect you. No matter what." He moved his hand to cup Stiles' cheek, "Stiles, I love you..."

Without another word, Stiles surged forward and pressed his lips hard against Peter's. He moved his hands to cradle Peter's head as Peter moved his to grip Stiles' waist. It was protective and familiar and comfortable; a warm feeling spread through Stiles right from his gut to his head, clouding his mind. The heat managed to silence the voice screaming about how bad of an idea it was to let Peter in after last time. How he had just given heartbreak a font-door key.

But Peter's hands were gentle on his body, his lips soft but pressing against Stiles' own. It was hot in the loft, but Stiles barely noticed as Peter pulled him impossibly closer, leaving their two hard bodies flush against each other. Stiles was struggling to breathe right through his nose and knew it was only a matter of time before he would have to pull away to breathe properly, but Peter felt so good he didn't want it to end.

As they say, all good things must end. When Peter inevitably pulled his lips from Stiles' he didn't go far, resting his forehead against Stiles', like he couldn't bare to be away from the boy for even a second. Stiles kept his hands balled in the neckline of Peter's soft Henley like if he didn't hold on tight enough, Peter would vanish into thin air. Both of their breathing was harsh and loud, and neither knew whose air it was, but felt damn near perfect.

"Stay with me..." Peter requested in a soft whisper, gently squeezing Stiles' hips.

Stiles nodded, and knew that was enough. It would be enough.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This took me way too long to write and I'm not crazy about the ending but I don't think I've posted anything yet this year so here we go.  
> The title is from a Tom Odell song so yay...  
> I honestly don't know what I'm saying anymore, I need more sleep I think.  
> Also, majorly sorry for the atrocious metaphors and the overuse of metaphors. Sometimes I like to think I'm amazing with words when really I sound like a pretentious knob. Sorry 'bout that.  
> Please maybe leave a quick comment or kudos, they are much appreciated and I almost always reply to comments.  
> I hope everyone has a great day/night and an even greater existence!


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